


Wildcard

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, Femslash, Rare Pairing, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elincia always loved the smell of leather in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildcard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Prince/gifts).



Elincia always loved the smell of leather in the morning. She could catch other scents, from old perfume to the hint of sex. Dressing alone was one of her few moments of pure privacy, though Lucia would soon be in to help her with her corset.

The only problem was that this much aloneness left her with entirely too many thoughts. Most of the time she could dismiss them and continue being the best queen she could be, but other times they twisted within her, tangling her up.

The truth was, sometimes she felt like her ascension to the throne came too soon. These thoughts came through, sharp and cutting, that she didn't belong here. Not someone as innately gentle as herself. Even if she knew her devotees needed to be dominated, verbal humiliation didn't come easily for her. She'd rather tell everyone they were doing good jobs and she loved them all than call them worthless sluts, but if they needed to be called worthless sluts and feel the edge of her riding crop, well that's what she would do.

Because that's what a queen did. Or at least what _this_ queen did. Kings were traditionally the rulers, but no male heir had been born. So she was the final authority in this realm, and even if there were some disgruntled murmuring, she did her best. She wasn't the first queen in history to take control, but she was the first in Crimean history in the past five-hundred years. And she had taken on this duty with as much strength as she had, and nurtured all those who lived with her. Well, nurtured wasn't quite the word. Flogged was probably a better word, though it was nurturing of a kind.

But it left her worn out. Especially Kieran, who seemed to not quite understand the taking on of false names, or masks, or that he didn't really need to bellow out his loyalty every two seconds. Though to be fair, it was rather sweet. She'd barely been able to lift her arm after a session with Kieran, who always demanded to be flogged harder and harder for the sake of the country, and who seemed to have a deeper well of pain tolerance–or even love–than she had ever encountered before.

She'd even had to leave the flogging to Geoffrey once or twice, because she was afraid she'd dislocate her shoulder if she hit him any harder. It wasn't a total shame to pass on an assignment to an underling, but she did feel like she'd let Kieran down somewhat. He was completely loyal to her, as any good knight would be, and even if he was happy to be caned by Geoffrey–more than happy, really–she should have been strong enough to finish the job herself.

And that thought would lead to more and more dark thoughts until she would feel as powerful as a two. So she pushed her mind elsewhere, to think of mysteries, and charming rogues.

There was news that a joker had been seen. She'd never come across a joker, despite being the queen of hearts for three years now. She'd heard of them popping up into Daein, the court of spades, and in fact, the court of diamond's joker was well known as a ambassador and politician, or that while their young self-proclaimed empress wasn't old enough for such things, she already showed a natural gift at verbal humiliation.

Daein had fallen into ruin when a king had been named who could not dominate, and could not even give out verbal humiliation without stuttering or apologizing. It was found out there'd been some treachery and subterfuge–he'd never been a real king at all. He had been peacefully replaced by a female jack who took the role of queen and dominated with a serene, cold pride. Supposedly, he'd become one of her loving jacks, and the circle had been complete.

 _A joker_. They were the so-called wildcards, the ones who could dominate or be submissive at will and change scene by scene. They were outside the control of a ruler, doing as they pleased, wherever they came to rest. Her breath caught at this thought.

She could be weak, she could let go for a moment and still be queen when the scene was up. It left her feeling flushed, hot, the leather clinging to her skin.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she said.

Lucia walked in. She was clad in white leather, with only hints of her pale skin and wisps of blue hair spilling out from her leather mask that covered her like a helm.

"Are you ready for your corset to be tied?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," Elincia said.

She closed her eyes. Her breaths came more shallow as the binding came up tighter and tighter. Lucia's hands traced up her back as she tied them.

Tighter, tighter, until every breath was valued, so very precious.

And that was how her day began.

*

That night she received a card under her door. A wildcard with a bit of text and hearts scrawled on it. A crown tipped, a knotted sign.

 _Meet me in room seven after dark, and leave your crown behind._

She knew what this invitation meant, and her heart beat faster at the possibilities. A mysterious person she'd never met offering to completely dominate her, and strip away the control she'd clung to. No written response was needed. All that was required was for her to show up later.

It could be dangerous, she might not even let go. Yet the possibility, the anticipation pushed her forward.

She stuck the card into her bustier, and loved the feel of it close in, her very own secret.

*

Elincia dressed as one of the lower numbers, a two or three. Her face was covered in a leather hood with only eye holes and a slit, lest safe words need to be exchanged. An optional choices. She bowed her head as she walked, acting all too well the part of a submissive, one all too willing to be completely under the control of the queen–or any joker which might pass by to toy with whatever crossed their path.

She knocked on the door exactly three times, and then the door opened. The lighting was low in this room, but she could make out the implements on the side. Riding crops and cat 'o nine tails, paddles and shackles of varying sizes.

She was clad in purple leather pants so tight they looked painted on with laces going down the front, and a purple laced bustier. She didn't even seem to struggle under the tight binding, or topple on her black stiletto boots, which looked sharp enough to kill someone.

"I've been waiting for you, Queen Elincia," she said. She smiled from behind the leather mask that covered her face. It was the same color of purple as her clothes, and topped with white feathers. There was no elaborate hat, as a mocker of the jesters, but perhaps only the males carried those.

Elincia kept her head bowed.

"I've heard a lot of things about you. I just have one question. Well, two really," she said.

"Yes?" Elincia asked. She dared to look up, to meet the other woman's eyes.

"You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you?" she said.

 _No one._ That was the answer which came all too easily. She was always in charge, and her jacks, no matter how loyal they were, would never be able to dominate her. It simply was not done.

"Ah, just as I thought," she said.

"Then, my second. Pick a word. If you can't take it, say it and I'll stop. I think you'll handle it just fine, but I wouldn't be a very good domme if I didn't do this," she said.

She'd never been given this choice before, and it felt a reassurance. Jokers were said to be unpredictable–coming into this one's web could entail a total power exchange without even the shelter of an escape. However, Elincia had taken the offer even with this chance.

"Beautiful," she said, without even a thought.

The woman smiled knowingly. "Why, thank you."

"I mean—Lavender."

"Good," she said. "Now, on your knees."

Elincia complied.

"You're a pretty little slut. But that mask isn't doing anything for you. Take it off," she said.

"But–" she murmured.

"You're going to defy your mistress?" her mistress bent her riding crop. "I think you need to be punished."

She let out a sharp gasp as the riding crop hit her arm, her shoulders. Once, twice, the sting was glorious. Her mistress stood over her, sharp and confident and beautiful.

"Lick my boots clean."

Elincia bent down and licked the pristine leather boots. It was an odd conglomerate of bitterness, a stark familiar scent. The riding crop rested on her shoulders, to remind her what would happen if she wasn't quick enough. She let herself lapse a moment, just to feel that bee sting of the whip on her shoulders. The welts were like kiss marks, and she let out a groan of pure pleasure as the leather met her skin.

Queens weren't supposed to like their own pain so much, but she reveled in it. Clarifying, throbbing, she took several pants and felt the riding crop strike her again and again.

"Look at you, an utter slut for pain. I don't think there's been any queen like you." But there was an affectionate edge to the insult, each _slut_ sounding more like _my sweet_ from her lips.

She nudged Elincia with her boot. Elincia lovingly laved her tongue over the black leather. She nuzzled against it, a feeling of relief spreading through her. She hadn't even realized how much she'd needed this until now. The joker undid the laces of her pants, and pulled it down enough to reveal blond curls.

"Service your master," she said in a husky growl. She pushed Elincia's head towards her groin. Her fingers twisted tight, until Elincia's scalp burned with pain. She took a tentative lick. She paused in a momentary surprise at the vaguely salty, metallic aftertaste. Her mistress tightened her grip on Elincia's hair and reminded her of her place. She'd always been a domme, the punisher and receiver of pleasure.

With each taste, she grew more confident and more accustomed to her place. Somewhere within her she had found the inner submissive wishing to be out. She listened in tune to her master's wishes.

"Right there," her master ordered, with just a hint of a tremor in her voice. Elincia obeyed, focusing her attentions in long, slow strokes of her tongue.

"Oh–There—"

She had given up her control, and now she regained it. As much of a relief as it was to feel the lash against her skin, it was to take back the moment and feel her master trembling under her touch. She gripped around her master's hips, even daring to take one appreciatory cup of her master's backside. She buried herself between her thighs, her hesitance beginning to ebb. Her master's moans urged her on, and it was so sensual. The warmth, the wetness slick against her cheeks.

She found herself slightly surprised to find out she was as aroused by the act of pleasuring her master as the thought of being pleasured. She throbbed between her legs just from the musk of them, the sweat, and the overpowering scent of leather. She slipped one hand from her master's hips and pushed it between her legs. She rubbed against her palm, and tried to time it with the rhythm of her tongue. It was imperfect, a messy solution, and yet it worked. Her master was either too distracted, or kind enough to allow her this pleasure as she ground herself into her hand, feeling the ache in her arm, her tongue, and the skin that still smarted from the riding crop.

It meshed together, the aching, the relief and the rising pressure until it she came in a climax which pulsed through her whole body. Her master gave a soft sigh, sitting back. Elincia rested against her thigh, and she stroked Elincia's cheek, digging her fingernails as a contrast to the softness just before she broke the contact. "You were never a queen, you were a joker all the time," her master said.

"Perhaps so, but whatever role I need to take to lead Crimea, I will, whether that be king, queen or joker," Elincia said.

"You're really something," her master said. She pulled out something from where she'd been sitting–a healing ointment. It stung as it applied, but it was fast working, and soon the wounds began to heal.

"It's a shame to make all those pretty marks I worked so hard disappear, but it's got to be done, I guess. Next time I'll have to leave them where no one can see," she said. She winked playfully, her blue eyes bright behind her mask. She was more candid now, both of them on equal footing.

Jokers were notoriously unpredictable. They would come and go with little to no warning, or at least that was what she heard.

"You're going to stay?"

Slowly, her master took off her mask. She was lovely, golden and confident, with a hint of roguish sensuality which only added to her beauty.

"I heard all about this strong, beautiful queen, and come to find out the rumors about you don't do you justice at all," she said.

And for once, she felt a rapport. Not below, not above.

"Well, I hope you will stay a while then," she said carefully.

"Oh, of _course_ I'll stay. Who will keep you punished without me here?"

She gave a light swat of Elincia's backside with her riding crop, and it was a beautiful sting, something to remind her that she could be controlled just as easily as she could control.

*

Another day. She was feeling more relaxed today, stronger for her weakness. The vulnerary had hidden the scars, for there couldn't be a queen bearing the mar of a whip, but she remembered them well. Elincia squared her shoulders. She would be strong, and she would dominate him just like he needed.

Gloved hands took the whip from her hands. She looked over to see the joker there.

"Hey, darling. I'll take it from here," she said. She pressed another card in Elincia's hands, the queen of hearts this time. On it was scrawled a message:

 _My name is Heather, by the way. Don't forget it, you're going to be calling it tonight._

She cracked the whip hard against Kieran, putting her whole body into it.

"You think you deserve a moment with our beautiful queen? You're an arrogant fool. You're _scum_." The whip sunk in hard, and Kieran let out a howling cry of something between pain and pleasure.

"Yes! I don't deserve anything! A Crimean knight must take all pain, all the pain for the queen!"

"Oh, I'll give you pain," Heather said. Kieran let out another cry. She put her whole body into the whipping, Elincia wondered how she didn't tire herself out. To say nothing of that Heather could really humiliate with a cruelty she'd never been able to manage.

Obviously she had much to learn. But Heather seemed all too happy to teach her.

And what enjoyable lessons they'd be. Perhaps she'd reclaim her control as a queen, or perhaps she'd let Heather dominate her again.

Either way, she was looking forward to tonight.


End file.
